


After Hours and the In Between

by songofproserpine



Series: AkeShu: The Thing That Feels [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Boys Kissing, Boys on the edge of a nervous breakdown, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Spooning, akeshu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofproserpine/pseuds/songofproserpine
Summary: Drabble fics about Akechi and Joker throughout the story of P5 (and maybe after...?). Chapters not in chronological order. Taking prompts for this here and on Tumblr @ lokiarsene.Chapter 5 - Red threads of fate choke as well as bind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed that I quoted Oscar Wilde in another Akeshu fic I wrote. As I was writing this one, a Wilde quote just worked its way in so easily that I figured I'd make a habit out of writing little non-sequential drabble fics with these boys, centered around different Wilde quotes.
> 
> ETA: I guess you could say I'm... Wilde about Akeshu. 8D;; /brick

The rain came on sudden and swift. At first the sky was a neat swatch of gray, a uniformly drab color collected together and tightly pressed around the edges, keeping out any trace of the sun. But as the evening approached, a sudden storm began in an eye’s blink, catching Goro Akechi off guard.

Poor timing, too, as Leblanc had just closed up for the night. _Now_ where would he go?

Goro stepped back from Leblanc’s front door, unable to hide both his disappointment and bitter amusement. He heard himself laugh before a rumble of thunder, as long and low as a beast stirring from sleep, drowned it out.

“Of all the days to hope for good weather,” he said, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. The rain was heavy, almost vicious. Every drop slammed into the narrow street like a fresh, deep wound wept.

Goro extended his hand and watched as the rain slid over his glove. It trickled through the folds of his palm before curving around the edge, where it hung suspended, dangling on the back in a long oval, like a tear. He was distantly aware of another sound below the fresh rumble of thunder, something softer and crisp–the bell to Leblanc’s door–before a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Were you going to stand out here getting soaked, or were you coming back inside?”

Ren Amamiya’s voice was steady, his delivery almost nonchalant, but Goro could hear the warmth buried in the words. He turned to face the other boy, preparing himself to look that warmth in the face.

His heart did a strange, awkward lurch once he locked eyes with Ren. The other boy’s expression was open, honest. His eyes, as always, were framed behind those comically large glasses that Goro was dead sure he didn’t actually need.

Through this quiet scrutiny, Ren peered at Goro with a patient honesty. Those glasses never seemed to hide a thing–if anything, they magnified Ren’s expression, acting like a private window into which a stranger might see the boy’s heart.

 _It must be exhausting_ , Goro thought, and not for the first time, _to be so open_. _It must be nice to know you could risk it._

Goro pointed at the sign on Leblanc’s door. It still said OPEN, though he knew otherwise. “You do realize that it’s after hours,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” Ren said, and the words cut into Goro like a piece of glass can slide under the skin: sharp, fast, and stubbornly painful, intent to hurt despite its small size.

Goro chewed on the inside of his cheek and felt himself force a smile. “I thought I was being polite.”

“So was I. Or did I. Whatever.” Ren pulled the door open wider and turned, waving his free hand back towards the cafe and all the warm light spilling out from inside. “I’m inviting you in as a _friend_.”

Goro stared. “A friend,” he heard himself echo. _Friend_. What a novel idea. And it was just like Ren to say it so quickly, with such neat, naked sincerity, as if it were a simple fact of the world. And to use his first name to boot. He must really mean it.

 _Friend_. Goro’s mind puzzled over the word like he was weighing it, testing out the feel and the shape, and the strangely heavy way it hung in his heart. Something shifted in his chest as he repeated Ren’s words to himself once more. _As a friend_.

Is that what they could be?

“Thank you,” Goro heard himself say, grateful that some part of him could still perform as a functioning human being despite being knocked so far for a loop. He walked inside, his chest still carrying that strange weight that wouldn’t stay still.

“That’s what friends are for,” Ren said, pushing the door shut with one hand. He flipped the sign over with a careless, casual flick of his long fingers, and then turned to face Goro, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“I’ll only stay until the rain stops,” Goro said. These words were a line in the sand, a line clearly drawn, outlining the distance he was so careful to create between himself and Ren. Theirs was a distance he constantly tested with each visit to the cafe, and each “accidental” encounter in the subway before school.

But no matter how he chided himself for the risks, Goro couldn’t help testing the limits he had set for himself. Reaching out to Ren, going out of his _way_ to even see him, was like a cut in the mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it. He just couldn’t resist the swift stab and the resulting ache.

“Stay as long as you’d like,” Ren said, shrugging. He looked so composed, with that ever-present, enviable graceless ease.

“Well I don’t want to be stuck here overnight,” Goro scoffed. His laughter was uneven; the sound of it stumbled out of his throat, unsteady and clearly nervous.

Ren waited for Goro to compose himself before he asked, “Would that really be so bad?”

Goro flexed his left hand, testing the limits of his glove. Would it be? No, probably not. Should he stay? No, definitely not.

Would he stay, if asked?

Yes, absolutely.

“No,” he heard himself say. “I don’t suppose it would be.”

Ren nodded, as if that little movement settled the matter. He moved around Goro, walking behind the counter. Goro waited, still unsure, before he settled back into his usual stool and watched Ren go about the paces of closing up the shop.

Ren’s movements were mechanical, but even they had a sort of grace to them. And his long, thin hands moved like a magician’s in a trick, with an appeal that was equal parts about deception and a subtle challenge.

Or perhaps Goro was thinking too much about the other boy’s hands and should get a grip on himself–no pun intended.

Oblivious to Goro’s close scrutiny, Ren wiped down the counter with a damp cloth until the wood was polished bright and gleaming. He carried half-empty cups and stained saucers to the sink in the back, delicately adding them to the already existing pile of porcelain. Once this was complete, Ren picked up a broom from its position against the wall from which the TV set hung, and he began to sweep the floor in slow, steady strokes.

There was something comforting about this moment, something cozy and warm, so much so that it made Goro’s chest crack with a fresh ache.

“You know…” Ren began after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “from one friend to another, I have some advice I wanna share with you.” He peered at Goro, his eyebrows slightly lifted, his expression framing a question he wouldn’t ask.

Goro thought he knew what this question was. _Do you want to hear it?_ “Go ahead,” he said, waving his hand. “Tell me.”

“Stop thinking so much. It’ll just tear you apart.”

Goro laughed. “Since when is it a bad thing to think?” he asked.

“It’s not,” Ren said, frowning a little. “I mean, it’s _usually_ not. But with you it’s a different story.”

“Why just with me?”

“Because you go overboard with it. Not even the best of habits stays useful if you do them too much.”

“’ _Everything in moderation, including moderation_ ’?” Goro asked, smiling. The expression slipped onto his face with an ease that made his chest feel strange again. It happened so quick as to be almost on instinct, like it was so natural to sit here and make small talk with another boy.

But no, not just any other boy– _this_ boy in particular. This strange, graceless, honest boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and seemed to collect the secrets of strangers with an open mind and a listening, patient ear. _It must be nice to be so brave._

Goro didn’t expect Ren to recognize the quote–not everyone read Oscar Wilde today, not even back when the man was still alive–but to his delight, the other boy surprised him.

“Exactly. Oscar Wilde had the right of it more than once, I think. And words like that stick around because there’s truth to them–truth and humor.” Ren leaned on the broom and raised his eyebrows again, his mouth sliding up into a crooked, half-smile. “Because why bother with honesty if you can’t dress it up in a joke?”

“Thank you,” Goro said, still wearing that warm, open smile. “For the advice–and the concern. It’s kind of you to care.”

“’ _I have nothing to declare except for my genius_ ,’” Ren said, his voice a flat, steady deadpan. It was another Wilde quote.

Goro laughed again. The sound broke through the cafe, competing with a fresh rumble of thunder from outside. Even Ren had to smile at the other boy’s amusement, clearly resisting the urge to laugh at his own joke.

“Let’s not go overboard,” Goro said.

“See, you’re getting the hang of this moderation stuff already,” Ren said, smiling with pride. “And friendship. Can’t forget that.”

“How do you figure?”

“’ _Because a good friend will always stab you in the front_ ,’” Ren said, quoting Wilde once again.

Goro tried to laugh. He knew he should, knew that he _must_ , but the sound died somewhere en route from his brain to his throat. All he could do was smile, wooden and stilted, as his heart gave another painful lurch in his chest.

“I hope you’ll understand me when I say that I’ll try to disappoint you,” he said, looking at his gloved hands pressed flat on the counter top.

Ren frowned. “That’s not another one of Wilde’s, is it?” he asked.

Goro shook his head slowly from side to side, his neck tight, muscles unyielding. “No,” he said, his voice soft. His words all but tumbled back into his chest and the pain that thrummed inside with every heartbeat. “No, that one is all mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akechi and Ren have a lesson in loneliness while looking over some of Yusuke’s art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not every single one of these drabbles will be angsty, but these two + the Silent Hill 2 OST + me being a mopey binch = this.

"All art is quite useless.”

Ren kicked his toe against the black and white tiled floor and shot Goro a look. “Better not let Yusuke hear you say that.”

“He isn’t here,” Goro pointed out. “And besides, you’re the only one who can hear me.”

“Not that others aren’t trying.” Ren shot a pointed look over to a collection of schoolgirls tittering not so quietly behind their hands. Goro risked a quick glance their way–risked, and regretted it. They immediately let out a squeal of giggles as his eyes caught theirs, and he quickly plastered a smile onto his face and gave them a polite nod.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he said through his teeth, the smile frozen to his face.

Ren looked back to the girls before trailing his eyes over Goro’s face in a slow, careful study. Goro hated that look, hated the way it made his heart thump in his chest, hated the way he felt so bared and cold and small.

“I don’t if you don’t,” Ren said, giving a typical nothing answer. But then he added, each word sharp and clipped, like a stab, “Just as long as you don’t take your frustration out on my friends’ hard work.”

Goro tucked one arm against his chest and propped his other elbow onto it. Curling his fingers under his chin, he tilted his head in a slow twist to the side, trying to make sense of the canvas in front of him.

The background of the painting was a heavy, tarry black, cut through with deep bruise blues and bright, bloody red, like veins bared by a razor blade. There were no discernible shapes on the canvas, no clear image or form of any kind, just the delicate, almost sensual swirls of color on color, shades meeting shadows. It made Goro feel… uneasy, as if he could fall inside and just let go, just _give in._

If Ren was likewise affected by the painting, he didn’t show it. Which only made Goro even more determined to hide his own reaction.

“What I said earlier wasn’t a comment on Kitagawa-kun’s skills or talent–clearly, he has both,” he began.

“So why are you insulting him?”

Goro shook his head. “I’m not.”

A moment passed in silence. Ren shifted his weight in an even, smooth slide. As he moved, his elbow brushed up against Goro’s, making the latter keenly aware of not only his own body, but the small distance that gaped between them.

Goro lowered his hands to his side, his gloved hand grazing the side of Ren’s arm. He held his breath, waiting.

Ren didn’t move. Didn’t flinch or shift at all.

Goro turned to look at his companion, and asked, “What does art do to you, as the viewer?”

More silence. Ren seemed to be giving the question a good deal of thought, but his expression went through the smallest of changes. His eyebrows slowly knit over, his eyes narrowed. His lips, which Goro tried not to stare at for too long, pressed into a small, pale thin line.

Then, he said, “It offers a window into the world of the artist. Their emotions, their thoughts, their message. All art ever does–all art is _meant_ to do–is make the viewer feel something.”

“Exactly,” Goro said, nodding.

“So why is that useless?”

“Because what does that _do_? What does it do for me to feel what a stranger feels? To take a look into their inner world, like peering into a wound or a window? How does that help _me_?”

“Maybe it’s not meant for you,” Ren said, shrugging. “Maybe it’s all for the artist. Not you. Not us. No one else but himself. Or herself. Themselves.”

Goro paused. He looked again at the canvas, his thoughts shifting over this new puzzle laid at his feet. “So what does art do for the artist?” he asked, thinking out loud.

Ren shifted his feet once more and cleared his throat. It was a low, rough sound, making Goro think of the other boy’s mouth, his lips and teeth, his tongue, the inside of his cheeks. He chewed on his own, trying to drive the thought away. But it wouldn’t leave.

And then, barely, just barely, the tips of Ren’s fingers grazed the back of Goro’s knuckles. The movement was slow but deliberate.

A ripple of warmth went through his skin, making him keenly aware of every stroke, of every small stretch of warmth that radiated from Ren’s hand and into his, even through the thin leather layer of his glove. There was a charge between them, something real and alive, a thrill like a livewire or a pulse, like a vein pumping blood and life and heat from the heart. He would be a fool to move away from it now.

Ren waited until Goro was looking him straight in the eye before he answered. “It gives him the hope that he’s not alone.”

 

Later, when Goro was half asleep and only half sure it was a bad idea, he picked up his mobile and quickly shot off a message.

_I enjoyed myself today. Thank you for inviting me._

He stretched out his left hand, which still felt raw and strange, as if his nerves and skin were marked by the touch that still made his heart race. Strange. Strange and silly. Sentimental, stupid. But maybe he wasn’t alone in feeling that way.

Ren’s reply came back within seconds. _Next time we’ll do something you like._

Goro dropped his phone to the floor, twisted himself up in his blankets and sheets, and buried his face in his left hand. He fell into sleep with a smile on his face, hoping that Ren was doing the very same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren notices Akechi’s been acting strange ever since the almost-kiss. Eventually, Akechi asks to clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a response to "As Through a Glass, Darkly."

After that almost but not quite a kiss, Goro avoided Leblanc for three days.

Ren only noticed because somehow the other boy’s absence was as conspicuous as his presence used to be. It took him an hour to work out what that meant, and the answer was no less surprising than the question: He was used to Goro being around.

The next question, of course, was _why_ , but no matter how many times Ren turned it over in his head, no answer seemed forthcoming. No pearl of wisdom dislodged itself from the ruts and folds of his mind, delivering him the prized epiphany.

By the end of the third day, when he returned home from an impromptu study session with Haru, Ren was no closer to an answer. It wasn’t for lack of trying. All day long he had picked at the thought like a scab. _Why Akechi, of all people?_

What few answers he came up with were far from satisfying. _Because he took the time to be there. To stay around._ Most of Leblanc’s regulars lingered for about twenty minutes tops. But Goro could stay for hours sometimes, nursing a few cups of coffee, making small talk with Sojiro. Sometimes he even tried to start a conversation with Futaba, sitting patient and politely distant each time she clammed up under his gaze.

But still, he wasn’t the only one who came to Leblanc. He wasn’t even the only regular.

_So… why spend so much time thinking about the guy?_

Reluctantly, with the slow, steady drip, like rain sliding down a pane of glass, Ren’s mind finally came to a conclusion somewhere around the time Haru had her third cup of tea and she crossed through his fourth English sentence (“ _Cant_ and _can’t_ are two different things, Ren-kun. Don’t forget your apostrophes.” “I wouldn’t forget them if I knew what they were.”). It was lop-sided and unsteady, sure, but it was a conclusion all the same.

Goro Akechi was interesting because he was clearly suffering from something and trying like hell to hide it. Their last encounter in Leblanc had shown that much, as clear as a too bright spring day. And though Ren was particularly sensitive at keying into the broken air and quiet agonies that all his acquaintances seemed to suffer these days, there had been something especially desperate about Goro on that evening in the cafe.

 _“You looked like you wanted to scream,”_ Ren had said to him the last day he'd seen Goro. And it was true. Goro’s eyes seemed stamped with a hollowed, harrowing depth, half glazed over and lowered to the counter top as if they were too heavy to lift higher than that. And his expression had been all edges, sharp and cutting, with his teeth clenched, jaw strained, and neck tight.

Ren could practically feel the frustration pouring out of him, could feel his own nerves twist and tangle up in sympathetic response to the caged storm that were Goro’s own. So he’d done what came easy to him. He had reached out to the other boy–literally reached out, and rested his hand on his shoulder, leaned in and let his lips slide across that too tense cheek, and he whispered what he thought were the best words of comfort to give in that moment.

And then it all blew up in his face.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe his best just wasn’t up to Goro’s usual standards of solace. _If he had any._

Or maybe Goro had other shit going on in his life than to kill time in a cafe on a little side street that only drunks and old people paid any attention to.

Still, Ren couldn’t fight the feeling that Goro’s absence had something to do with him and the not-kiss–or rather, the sliding hint of a kiss that Ren would have turned into a proper mouth to cheek or chin (or neck, or lower, or–) if there had only been time enough for it.

But there hadn’t been. So he didn’t.

And now he probably wouldn’t get a chance–just his luck, seeing as he wanted to.

 _Figures_.

So when Ren walked into Leblanc and saw a familiar figure with familiar light brown hair framing an all too familiar, pensive face–that was, in this light, and at this angle, if possible, even more worried-looking than it usually was–he thought it didn’t matter if he didn’t have the answer. Because in that moment he couldn’t help but rejoice in the frayed, fractured feeling that took his nerves by surprise, nor could he deny the tingling twist of his stomach, or the way his breath caught and then stuttered out of his lips as his heart hammered hard against his ribs. It was a thrill, a rush, a warmth of blood and a deeper, needy hunger that only Goro could inspire–though damned if Ren could figure out why.

And maybe this response was its own answer. Maybe he didn’t need to spell it out in simpler language than pure instinct.

It couldn’t just be because Goro was desperate and hiding something. That would be a real shitty reason to be attracted to a person. _Even vultures have better reasons for eating carrion._

“You’re back,” Sojiro said, pulling Ren from his thoughts.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said. He couldn’t help but glance at Goro as he spoke, but the other boy was too busy contemplating the darkness of his coffee cup. “I was studying with a friend.”

“A girlfriend?” Sojiro asked, unable to hide a sly grin.

Ren glanced over at Goro again. The other boy’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his expression thoughtful and heavy.

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

Sojiro scoffed. “Not with that attitude she won’t be.”

“And that suits me just fine.”

Was he imagining it, or did he see the ghost of a smirk on Goro’s face?

Ren walked towards the back of the shop, ready to trudge upstairs and drop off his things. Mona was snoozing contentedly in his bag, but Ren knew he wouldn’t complain about being moved to some place far more comfortable, like the middle of his bed. He quickly dropped off his things and changed out of his uniform for the cleanest clothes he could find on the floor.

Ignoring Mona’s grumbles of complaint, Ren dug into his bag for a notebook and one of his textbooks. If he was going to spend time in Leblanc, he would at least have to look the part of a diligent student. Sojiro would probably ask for his help with the dishes before long, but he could delay the inevitable if he pretended he still had work to do.

Even if that pretty much derailed his hopes to talk to Goro. Ren frowned as he walked back downstairs. Clearly he hadn’t thought this plan through. But he couldn’t worry about it. If they had a chance to talk to each other, then they’d talk. If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t. And then he could hope for a shot next time. Easy as that.

Leblanc was almost empty by the time Ren returned to it. Sojiro was lingering by the door, patting down his pockets. The only other customer was Goro, who didn’t look like he was going to leave any time soon.

“‘bout time you came down,” Sojiro said. “I’m headin’ out for a bit, then I’m paying a visit to a friend. Mind the place while I’m gone.”

“You got it, chief.”

“Show some respect.”

Ren gave a mock salute and a warmer smile. Sojiro frowned at them both, but he left without another word.

Once the door was shut, Ren’s eyes narrowed in on Goro. His coffee mug was gone, but he was still sitting rooted to the stool, motionless and still trapped in thought. His elbows were planted on the counter, his fingers–gloved, slender, and thin–were woven through each other, creating a bridge of knuckles and crossed thumbs.

Ren placed his books on the countertop and made a show of taking the long way around to the back. “Did you need anything else?” he asked, glad to have a reason to talk.

Goro didn’t blink. His eyes shifted out of the glaze of thought and became instantly alert. His attention narrowed in on Ren, the motion sure, fast, and swift–as if he’d been hoping for it.

_Don’t start projecting. You’ll never stop._

“Do you believe that a kiss can ruin a human life?” Goro asked, his voice deceptively bright, the pitch lifted, as if they were talking about something as common as the new dinner menu at the Wilton Hotel’s buffet.

Ren frowned. “I thought kisses were supposed to be nicer than that.” He ducked his head as he strung the apron around his neck.

Goro watched him adjust the frock and slide his hands around back to tie the strings into three little lumps of knots. “That would depend on a few things,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Like who was doing it, and who was receiving it, and whether they liked it–and why.”

Well… shit, that was a lot to think about. And a lot that Ren didn’t know how to answer. He walked over to Goro and leaned against the counter. The movements were on instinct; he barely thought about them at all. Something about Goro always had him moving on autopilot, like the two of them were tracing the steps of a dance and struggling to figure out just which one of them was the lead.

“No, I don't think a kiss could do all that," he said. "Why?"

Akechi turned his head to the side. He was studying Ren with the sort of look that made Ren think once again that he was trying not to scream. His jaw was locked tight around every word he spoke, and his muscles were stiff, his body unwilling to relent even a small scrap of its tightly wound up control for the sake of comfort.

And then Goro reached out to snatch at the collar of Ren’s shirt and pull him closer, as close as the counter would allow. Ren had just enough time to lower his hands before Goro’s mouth was on a collision course with his lips–his open, waiting lips.

The kiss was a hard thing, graceless and rough. Ren wished they had more time to ease into it, more time for him to adjust his hands and shift his lips and do something else with his tongue. But there was no telling when Sojiro would be back, or when a customer would walk in, and the last thing either of them needed was to be the source of gossip.

So when Ren began to pull away, he expected Goro to let him go. What he didn’t expect was another kiss right back, harder, heavier. Goro’s tongue moved over his lips and into his mouth, filling them both with the taste of the other, making each other shiver with the rush of their equal wants and need.

When they could speak again, Ren wet his lips with his tongue and smiled. “What about that spells ‘ruin’ for you?” he asked.

He had to know. Really, he did. Everything about Goro was so serious and dire it was almost ridiculous–at least, Ren _would_ be laughing if he weren’t so sure that the other boy was playing a daily undertaker to his own sadness. There was nothing funny about that kind of burial.

“It’s difficult to explain,” Goro said, though he didn’t look unwilling to do so.

But then the door to Leblanc opened and both boys clamped up tighter than a Palace on high alert. Sojiro frowned at them both, but he said nothing and Ren had nothing to offer. Nothing his guardian would want to hear, anyway.

Goro paid for his coffee, wished Sojiro a good night, and wasted no time in leaving the shop. Ren watched him go, another question churning away in his mind, yet another question he wasn’t sure how to answer–but he could be sure of one thing, at least. Goro Akechi was asking the same damn thing, and the only way either of them would get any peace was at the end of the other’s lips.

“Hey, kid. The dishes aren’t going to get done by themselves.”

Ren wet his lips again, tasting what remained of the kiss, and stuck his hands under the tap. The water burned, aching, raw. He barely felt it. His nerves were too busy singing something else to notice a thing like pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason they call it lovesick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey go look up BUCK-TICK's cover of "Omae no Inu Ni Naru," because that's this bit's anthem (and it's also a pretty angsty Akeshu song).

Akechi Goro hated Ren. He hated the sight of him—hated what seeing him _did_ to his heart. And then there was that kiss—the first one that wasn’t, and then the second that was, and the third, which was Akechi own damn fault.

He hated Ren for letting him do it. _He should’ve pushed me back, laughed in my face, or something worse. Like smiled._

That crooked little grin, full of sinister sincerity. That grin made Akechi’s heart twist up tight and feel like a fist banging against his chest, but whether it was pleading to be let out or to let something in, he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

He hated not knowing. Hated having to guess and cast about in the dark, acting out the blind fear that he had felt for years. And it was so easy to find the answer. It would be as simple as blinking. _Just go back to Leblanc, wait for Ren to walk in, and ask to speak with him in private._

Akechi could lay out the plan for himself in a dozen different ways, plot ahead for every possible response Ren could give, but all this predicting didn’t make it easy to actually do the damn thing.

It never used to be this difficult. Akechi’s plans never used to feel like a constant struggle, but now they were bogged down, burdened, torn between the bearing and burying of his heart’s own dead, dreaded weight. And it would be easier, really, to just bare the damn thing and be over with. To take Ren aside and show him a little of the wound that all their carelessness had created.

The thought was almost terrifying in the power of its temptation. It pulled at Akechi like a dog, teeth grit and jaw clenched. He was sick at heart and heavy with the burden of that miserable bit of pulp—and it was all Ren’s fault. It was Akechi’s heart, yes, but it was Ren’s _fault_.

 

Akechi was tired of being the mess of someone else’s making. Someone had to start taking some fucking responsibility for what they were doing to him.

 

Unfortunately, the only way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it.

 

Akechi’s plan didn’t quite go to—well, to plan. For a start, he showed up at Leblanc too late to pretend he was just a normal customer. Sakura-san had already left for the evening, but the door was still unlocked, the lights still on—and there Ren was, still sitting in one of the booths as if he expected Akechi all along.

And maybe he had. Maybe there was something to all this frayed nerves and thumping heart, this mad dance between hating and wanting and needing. Maybe there was a reason love and hate walked so fine a line as to share the same bed—it bound people up, saints and sinners and stupid delinquents and sad bastards alike.

The minute Akechi walked through the door and let it slam shut behind him, something inside his brain fell limp. A part of him flung up to the ceiling like dust or a cobweb, where it could perch and watch him fall to pieces without ever missing a step. He watched himself stride through the cafe, and stomp right up to Ren’s booth; watched himself take a seat across from the other boy, watched himself grin too wide and too weakly at Ren, who could only stare back, clearly surprised.

“Tell me to go away and I will,” Akechi heard himself say.

“I’m not gonna kick you out,” Ren said at once.

“Why? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with unwanted strays?”

“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to me,” Ren began, his dark eyebrows lifting up, getting lost in that mop of dark, wavy hair that was glossy like a raven’s wing. He continued, “but I sort of have a habit of taking in strays.”

It was meant as a joke, or at least as some kind of levity lifter and ice breaker, but Akechi couldn’t find room in his heart to let it in. There was too much built up inside him already. He barely had room to breathe.

“So charity’s just a hobby for you. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of doing a good thing?”

Ren frowned. “Did you come all this way to start an argument with me?”

 _Yes. No._ “I came all this way to see you,” Akechi said, his grin still in place, still hysterical, still wide and wobbling at the edges. His eyes burned, and his heart gave an almighty throb in his chest like it was one beat away from collapsing for good. “Because that’s what I’m supposed do, isn’t it? I’m your new stray. Your new charity case. I’m your dog to drag in from the cold and feed and then turn away again when you get tired of picking up after me.”

“What happened to you?” Ren stood up and slid out of the booth. Akechi watched him move closer, one hand extended, his long fingers ready to curl around the shaking bones in Akechi’s shoulder.

No. No, no, no, he was getting too close. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go; Akechi was supposed to be making all these moves.

“I can’t keep a secret this big,” Akechi heard himself say. How small his voice sounded to his own ears, like he was a child again. “I don’t have the room for it.”

“What secret?” Ren asked, his voice low.

Was he asking because he didn’t understand, or because he wanted to hear Akechi say it? Which was worse—which would hurt the most? Akechi couldn’t decide, couldn’t think—there was too much static in his head, clouds of it blurring out all his plans and the way he had wanted this to go. It was all falling apart— _he_ was falling apart, and there was no way to stop.

“What we’re doing to each other.”

“If you’re that sore about it, all you have to do is tell me.”

Akechi shook his head. No, no, no, that’s not what he was supposed to say. “That’s not it,” he heard himself say, but the words get stuck in his throat. His body is trying to sabotage his own confession, as if he were dead set on strangling himself before he can get the poison out.

“So what can I do?” Ren put his other hand on Akechi’s shoulder, holding him tighter with every tremble that ran through his body. His touch was warm and terrible, a trap of sincerity.

 _Stop doing this to me_ , Akechi wanted to say—wanted to, but didn’t. _Stop being so fucking kind._

Akechi knew he’d be better off without Ren around to tear his will down, and he knew he should hate the boy for doing it, but hate was a funny thing. It didn’t know what it wanted to be most of the time. It stumbled around until it looked a lot like love, and Akechi didn’t know how to draw the line anymore.

Ren gave him a hard shake. “Goro, talk to me. _Tell_ me. What can I do to help?”

The words were out before Akechi knew they were even waiting to be said. “Don’t send me away. Let me stay. I know it makes no sense—I know I’m not making any sense—but I’m trying, I’m _trying_ , and that’s all I need you to be.”

“What?” The word was a whisper, but it hit Akechi’s heart like a fist.

“Patient. Try to be.”

Akechi watched as Ren’s face became a bright, blinding blur. His expression was already hard to read even without tears to obscure Akechi’s vision, but he thought the other boy looked about as broken as he also felt. And maybe they shared that, too.

Without saying a word, Ren’s hands slid down Akechi’s arms. The simple touch bred wildfires under his skin. Ren’s fingers curled around Akechi’s wrist. One hand dropped away, while the other slid lower still until his fingers were bent around Akechi’s hand. He gave Akechi’s hand a small squeeze, and the movement was like a question. It hung in the air between them, swaying heavy and limp like a man at the gallows.

Akechi stood up, lowering his eyes to Ren’s face—there was just a few inches’ difference between them, so why did he always feel so small and withered? He nodded once, and together they walked to the back of the shop. Together, Ren leading the way, they walked up the stairs to the attic. Together they crossed his bedroom—it was wide and dark and too gray, too cold; Akechi could feel the dust settling on his bones with every step.

They undressed together—Ren had to help Akechi with some of it, as his hands were somehow stuck between being uselessly limp and shaking. Ren kept his eyes on Akechi’s face, waiting for a hint of some kind, any sign that this was too much, too close, that he needed to stop, but Akechi’s face can’t do anything but stay slack and wet with tears that won’t stop sliding over his cheeks and making his hair cling to the sharp curve of his chin.

They climbed into bed together—Akechi didn’t know what happened to the cat but he was glad not to have its pale blue eyes bearing witness to this pathetic scene.

With his shoulders arched and back bent, Akechi pulled himself over to face the wall. He wanted to shrink back from Ren’s touch, but his body was determined to betray him utterly in every decision. Ren’s arm wrapped around his front, his left hand testing the skin over Akechi’s heart as if the weight of one could relieve the burden of the other.

“Try to relax,” Ren said, his lips ghosting every word over the back of Akechi’s neck.

“That’s always easier to say than it is to do.”

“I know. Follow my lead. Match my breathing.”

Akechi tried. He screwed his eyes shut tight and he tried to ignore the tangle of his heart and the knife-sharp twisting in his gut. He tried to tell himself that the one thing left in this world of jittery nerves and unease was the sound of Ren breathing quietly. Long breath in, held to the count of three, long breath out.

They kept this up for a few minutes. Sometimes Ren kissed Akechi’s back on the exhale, his lips lingering against the pale stretch of skin that was bone gray and ghostly in the moonlight. Akechi wasn’t sure what he’s meant to give back for that, but his body gave in to the warmth and the ease of it, as if he had always known how a kiss like that is supposed to feel. As if kindness has been something he’s had within reach for years.

“It’s not fair,” Akechi said once he knew it was safe to speak again. He didn’t feel sick anymore, just gutted and raw. At least he wasn’t crying.

“What’s not fair?”

“You make everything so easy.” Akechi closed his hand over Ren’s and squeezed it hard enough to make their bones bend with the same ache. “It should be harder than this.”

Ren laughed. “What should?” he asked.

Akechi knew he walked into that joke thanks to his own poor phrasing, but he didn’t have the energy to meet Ren half-way to finish it. “No one’s ever touched me like this before you showed up. But you make it all so effortless, like it’s—it’s nothing—like this is just something you do every time a friend falls apart.”

“I don’t usually,” Ren said. Akechi heard the hush of his hair sliding over the pillow as he shook his head. “You’re kind of a special case.”

“So you’re just making it all up as you go? With me?”

“Kind of. Sorry to… disappoint you?”

A strangled weedy little laugh twisted its way out of Akechi’s throat. He lifted Ren’s hand to his mouth and kissed the heart of his palm, his teeth and tongue dragging over the other boy’s life and heart lines, tasting him. “Thank you,” he said, breathing the word against Ren’s skin.

"Sure thing, Goro. Whatever you need.”

He hated how good, how warm and safe and _loved_ , those words made him feel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-care is hard to pull off. Can't someone else do it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed my own hurt/comfort today because of health problems, so I figured I'd pour it into some Akeshu fic and take it out on these two. Poor sods.

Goro’s phoned buzzed in his pocket like a hornet. His brain immediately took a long leap, bypassing guesswork, and started building up little safe houses of assumptions.

It couldn’t be Sae—they had spoken last night, and she had mentioned something about afternoon meetings that would take up her time well up through the evening.

It couldn’t be Shido. He was busy going on street tours, shouting his policies to any rapt, eager crowd that would hear him. It was a wonder he’d have any voice left once all that was through, but the man was gifted with a preternatural fire. A burning in his heart and mind that refused to let a little thing like simple weakness drag him down.

It could be spam, though he’d blocked most of those numbers by now.

And… that was it. The full extent of Goro Akechi’s call list. Pitifully small, all things considered.

So naturally he took his time answering the call. Even considered ignoring it totally, letting the voicemail pick up what was bound to be a wrong number, or some kind of scammer who got through to hassle him about debt he didn’t have.

 _It’s nothing important._ And yet, something tugged at the edge of his thoughts, insistent, incessant, pulling hard on the sharp, nagging teeth of his hope. _But what if it is? Important._

With his lips pressed tight against the breath he needed to take, Goro dug his phone out of his pocket and sighed. “Hello?”

“Akechi-kun? It’s Amamiya.” A pause.

 _Ren._ “Oh? Hello.” Goro cleared his throat. His voice was getting too frayed, too weak. He looked at his empty hand, watched it shake from tip to wrist, and curled it up into a protective fist. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

Ren laughed. It was a sharp sound, lopsided, uneven. Goro frowned to hear it. There wasn’t any joy in the noise at all.

“Nobody ever expects me to call them,” he said, although that didn’t explain the laugh. It didn’t explain anything. It only made Goro want to probe deeper.

“I consider it a nice surprise, if that means anything,” Goro said.

“Akechi-kun—Goro.” Ren struggled to speak, was stumbling over the words and the distance demanded by formality. “Can I see you for a little bit? Right now? Unless you’re busy.”

Goro stared around at his empty apartment. Stark white, spartan bare, meticulously clean. The only thing he had left to do for the day was talk himself out of going to Leblanc _yet again_ , and yet here Ren was, giving him a perfect excuse to go against even that.

“I’m not busy at all. Are you all right?”

“No, no I’m really not, but I’ll try not to be too obvious about it.” Ren’s voice picked up speed, each word crashing into the ends of the one before it, like a train wreck. Goro tensed up at the word, at the image, at the memory. _Don’t think about that right now._ It was easy, too easy, to overlook that when Ren was on the line, clearly in need although Goro couldn’t quite figure out why.

His lips pressed down tight on instinct, trapping more words inside. “Has something happened?”

“Something is always happening to me.”

“You and everyone else in the world.” Goro flexed his free hand and took a breath. Strong, steady, grounding. It made his chest ache. “Where are you right now?”

“Heading towards the underground mall in Shibuya.”

“I’ll meet you there. Sit tight.”

“Thank you,” Ren breathed, his words like smoke—thin, weightless, desperate. “Thank you.”

 

It didn’t take long for Goro to get to Ren, nor to find him. All he had to do was look for the tall, gangly boy in a Shujin uniform with ridiculously oversized glasses and messy hair. It was like a beacon, drawing the eye in and making your attention focus hard, riveted.

 _Or is that just me_? No one else seemed to stare at Ren with the same intensity and razor-keen focus, and that was an issue Goro knew he’d have to tackle at some point, perhaps late at night with only himself and a nagging, scraping need for company. But he didn’t have to get into that now, yes? Not in public, surely.

He took a quick look around. The other people in the mall were going about their average day, muttering to their friends or else keeping their eyes riveted to the floor, their faces slack, blank, lifeless. When Goro found Ren, the dark-haired boy was leaning against the wall in front of the flower shop, one shoulder hunched up to brace himself against the wall, the other sinking low, slack, limp.

Goro watched as Ren kept kicking the ground in an uneven rhythm, matching the beat to a song in his head—or perhaps he was just nervous. Ren was an uncommonly fidgety person, always moving, always touching something—the back of his neck, his phone, twirling pencils, testing his grip on his backpack. At first, Goro thought the boy just had too much energy to burn, but now he wondered if it weren’t something worse than that, like warning signs or the stark red countdown on a clock before the fuse ignites.

Quite simply, the other boy looked stressed out—worse than stressed, he looked _strung_ out, unraveling at the seams, every knot and cord and thread that made up his person now pulled past its limit and fraying down to its threadbare essentials. When he looked up, Ren’s eyes were hollowed and dull, and his jaw was clenched tight as if he were afraid to even breathe for the air he so clearly needed.

Goro’s stomach dipped low and twisted with a surge of guilt. _What the hell am I supposed to do about this_? Walking over to him could work, for a start. Strike up some small talk, maybe carve out a safe, quiet little space for them to breathe in before the panic spilled over—as long as Ren was willing. Yes, that sounded like the right thing to do, if not the _only_ thing.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” Goro said when he was close enough to be heard.

Ren’s eyes swung up from the ground and pinned their gaze to Goro’s face. “I didn’t notice,” he said, his teeth half clenched. “It’s fine. It’s not a problem. I don’t mind.”

The words were fired off quickly, as if Ren wanted to get rid of them. And sure enough, Goro watched as Ren turned his head briefly to the side and snapped his mouth shut again, his jaw clenched tight like a trap, as if these movements could rein in what was coming quickly undone inside.

This wasn’t an assumption. Or rather it was a _safe_ assumption, rather than a baseless, rude projection, because Goro knew all the signs of a panicked mind trying desperately to free itself _from_ itself. He knew from experience, had become something of a veteran of his own tangled up panic and anxieties, like every thought was trying to walk through tripwire. Had watched himself go through all these same tense, wound up motions in the mirror, watching as his face shifted in ripples and twists as he succumbed to every trap and trick and catching, clawing thought that pulled him down deeper into worries and misery.

 _You look as bad as I always try not to feel,_ Goro thought, but he knew better than to say such a thing here, now, to Ren of all people. His heart let out a low, burning throb, like the sting of a wound trying to heal. The last person he’d ever want to see suffer exactly how he felt was the boy standing before him right now. But trying to tear that thought of his mind was too difficult, and to lay it out in words was an even weightier task that Goro hadn’t quite figured out how to do.

Goro watched the other boy’s mouth, noting the way the lips pressed tight, and the oppressive, rigid flex of muscle that kept his jaw almost naturally wired in place. It looked about as bad as it always felt, and a pang of sympathy pain resonated through Goro’s face as he cleared his throat and tried again to speak.

“I’m here right now. I’m here, and I’m listening.” Goro waited for Ren to look at him before he moved, just a few steps closer in, so the two of them could whisper if they had to. No one around them noticed; no one was even looking. That was in itself a blessing and a curse. Hiding pain in plain sight was the worst kind of talent to have. “But if we’re going to talk, then I’m going to need you to do something.”

“Everyone always needs me to do something,” Ren spat out, but there was no heat to the word, no real anger, just something limp and harsh and heavy. His smirk was too wide, his eyes still too dull, and his words trembled, walking out of his mouth on legs that were uncertain of the weight they carried or their ability to bear the burden. “Everyone’s always asking me to do shit for them.”

“Yes, but that’s entirely different from this,” Goro said, keeping his voice level and his eyes focused. His gaze didn’t move once from Ren’s face. He would be steady and true, even if Ren couldn’t be.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

“I need you to breathe.”

“I _am_ breathing.”

“And you’re choking on it.”

Ren scowled, his eyebrows folding down. “What?”

“I can hear you,” Goro said. “I can hear you trying and failing. So try something else. Something small and easy. But don’t do it because I asked you—do it _for_ you.”

Goro watched as the words cast their magic on the other boy’s face. His jaw unclenched, and his lips, once pressed down so thin and tight, gave way to a small, surprised _o_. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to make a difference—long enough for some air to get in. Goro listened to Ren take in a deep, shaky breath and felt his own lungs flood with life just the same.

“Sometimes there’s so much of the world that I hardly know how to cope with it,” Goro heard himself say. The words came spilling out of a quiet corner of his mind, a place that he had long since tucked away and didn’t let out except in his weakest, most private moments. But standing here, looking into Ren’s eyes, listening to him struggle to do something so simple and necessary as breathing, gave him… not the courage, but the need. The need to speak from a place deeper than the heart. “There’s so much of the world that it’s almost suffocating, isn’t it? There’s so much to think about, to face, to stare down and deal with each and every day, and there’s only so much of you to put up against all that.”

Ren nodded slowly, tearfully. Goro checked the urge to reach out and wipe the tears away. “I can’t settle in. I can’t fit or twist myself down to make myself safe. That’s how it feels and no I can’t explain it so don’t ask. Don’t even try.”

After a shaky, quick breath, Ren continued. “It’s like having teeth in my head, but the teeth _are_ my head, or maybe they’re the thoughts inside it, and I am both the animal caught in a trap and the trap itself, tearing myself apart and having only myself to blame. I’m doing it all to myself and I don’t—I’m not—I’m not _trying_ to. I don’t _mean_ it, but there it is, the blood is on my hands and it’s my own blood, and I am both the murderer and the weapon and—”

Ren’s words were still shaking, but at least he was breathing, at least he was _speaking_. “And yet all the fucking time, every fucking day, I have to shove all that aside and let everyone else work their problems out on me. _Me_.” He laughed, and each note of the sound was like a thud of a stone striking a pond and sinking down deeper to drown. “ _I’m_ supposed to help put them all back together, and no one stops to wonder if they should return the fucking favor.”

Lightning quick, Ren reached out and placed his hands on Goro’s shoulders, squeezing tight. Without thinking, acting only on instinct, Goro planted his feet on the floor and withstood the other boy’s weight. There was a need in those hands, a need and something deeper, raw, aching and open, bleeding honesty and the pure terror of vulnerability.

“Why did you come here?” Ren demanded, his eyes sharp and glinting like a knife.

Goro kept his voice steady. “Because you called me. You asked to see me.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s all there is to it,” Goro said. “We might be new acquaintances, but that doesn’t mean I’d ignore a cry for help when I hear it.”

Ren studied him, his dark eyes shifting across Goro’s own gaze in quick, nervous shifts, like a bird in need of grounding. Then, with a concentrated effort, his eyes trailed slowly down, lingering on Goro’s mouth.

They stayed that way for a long trail of seconds, seconds of silence that then bled out into a minute. Still, no one looked at them, no one stopped to stare or whisper beneath their hands. They were safe, hiding out in the open where no one thought to look.

The knot in Goro’s stomach and the pain in his chest merged to meet, and in the joining, something… strange begin to blossom. Something warm and heavy, as if honey were a mood that could spread through the chest and coat every nerve along the way. Goro watched as something similar unraveled in Ren’s eyes. It was a different kind of undoing: this was softer, gentle, almost hypnotic. His gaze, once so sharp and bared, shifted gently, so gently, becoming instead a look that searched and sought.

The suspense of the moment was terrible. Goro hoped it would last.

“I’m not doing this to work a favor out of you later,” he said, hating to break the silence, but the words needed to be said. Ren had to hear them, and that alone was reason enough to speak. “I don’t know what sort of friendships or people you’re used to, but I’m not interested in fitting into their pattern. I’d like to be something different for you, if you’ll let me.”

“Like what?” Ren asked, his voice pitched low. There was something intimate about the question, something so vulnerable and raw that it made Goro shiver to hear it. Ren’s voice was whisper soft and wet, like a tear or a kiss.

Goro looked at the boy’s eyes, dark and shining bright. He took a quick glimpse at his mouth, which was no longer tense and pressed down flat, as if trying to smother the life from himself. He reached out and placed his hand on Ren’s chest. The movement was slow and cautious, giving Ren ample time to stop him if that’s what he wanted. But Ren stayed completely still, so Goro slid his palm up and to the side, searching for the boy’s heartbeat. And there it was—thumping fast and steady against the cage of his ribs.

Ren swayed at Goro’s touch, as if the weight of that hand and its gentle search were almost too much to bear, but bear it he did. And that moment, that small moment, was enough to break Goro’s hesitation clean through, and let something like courage take its place. He took hold of Ren’s shirt and dragged him off to the a small alcove, a tight little space where they could have a quick second of privacy.

“Like this,” Goro said, leaning in. His other hand curled up and around the back of Ren’s head, taking hold of that mess of unruly black hair and steadying himself in its grip.

When their lips met, the kiss was at first a hard little smash, about as awkward as they both felt. But they soon shifted, adjusting pressure and positions, tilting their heads just so until they found just the right space and place to fit together—and they _did_ fit. They settled into each other and into the kiss, until just the one soon became a series, slow, soft, and searching.

 _Rest here, stay here, relax and breathe_ , Goro thought, thought and clearly could not say, not only because his lips were currently occupied, but because there was no way in hell these thoughts could translate well into words. _Make a home out of me. Settle in and stay as long as you’d like._ He might not be able to put these thoughts into words, but he could press them into each kiss and deliver them to Ren, the boy in clear and painful need.

And in that moment, in that small bit of time suspended in between seeking relief and finding release, Goro thought he understood Ren’s kisses, too. He could all but hear the unspoken words that passed between Ren’s lips over onto his. _You need me like they do—you’ll lean on me twice as hard as they ever will, but I will take it, I will endure it, because I would bear the world and more for you. Just you. Only you._ _If you’d only ask._

Goro stepped back first. Once you started imagining what someone else’s kiss _could_ mean, that’s how you knew you were in too goddamn deep. And he would at least like to _pretend_ he could walk away from this encounter with something like his composure intact.

The kiss was broken, but his lips tingled in the aftermath, as if Ren were still pressed against his mouth, matching kiss for kiss and touch for touch. Goro closed his hand into a fist, feeling the boy’s heartbeat inside his palm. It thundered out of time with his own, making him mindful not only of his own frantic pulse, but the unsteady rhythm that countered it. It was an odd feeling to carry around, especially after a kiss. The beat didn’t buzz like a hornet, but it stung twice as hard and hurt ten times worse.

Ren cleared his throat. “That was unexpected,” he said. And for the first time all evening, he sounded like his usual self. Casual, laid-back, consistently amused and almost a little sore about it.

Goro felt himself smile. “It got you to calm down, didn’t it?” he asked.

“I… sort of?” Ren scratched the back of his head. “I mean, talking to you was already doing that just fine.”

“Oh. I see.” Goro’s heart was a thunder in his chest, slamming hard against his bones, ready to smash them to powder. _This isn’t happening. This didn’t happen._ _I didn’t—_

“I’m not complaining about it,” Ren continued, taking note of Goro’s pinned-on smile and the tightness around his eyes. “How could I? I kissed you back and more. It’s just…”

“Yes?”

Ren laughed again. It was a light, easy sound, the kind that made Goro’s smile slip from the edges and fall flat with hunger and need. He wanted to taste the sound of Ren’s laugh on his lips, wanted to have his full of that ease and charm—but they couldn’t. Not now, and certainly not here.

“Now I’m wishin’ I had called you over to Leblanc,” Ren said, his voice low and thick. Goro shivered as the words poured into his ears. The other boy’s low tone was like a new kind of kiss, taunting, tempting, and terrible all wrapped up into one. “So we could work out the rest of this in private.”

Goro suppressed a shiver. He closed his hands tight, trapped his shaking fingers in his palms. “So ask me,” he heard himself say.

“Come home with me,” Ren whispered, his eyes burning bright and his words like a flame burning their way down to Goro’s heart. “Come home with me and let’s finish what you started.”

“I—” Goro began, but the words got jumbled on his tongue and knocked out of order. _I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t._ We _shouldn’t. It was a mistake—it was bold, brash, too stupid. I should have asked, should have waited. I should have hit you instead. If I go home with you now, then a part of me will never leave. I’ll grow in your life like a weed; you’ll have to tear me out by the roots, and I think that just might kill me._

“I can’t. Not now. Not yet.” Goro closed his eyes. It was easier to lie when he didn’t have to look at the person suffering from it. “But you can always call me if you’d like to—that is, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“I hear you.” Ren pushed his hands into his pockets and adopted his usual slouching posture. Why didn’t Goro notice it until now, that this in itself was a kind of lie, a mask that wrapped up his whole body and trapped the truth of him inside? “And yeah, you’re probably right. It’s a school night and all. Might be worth getting some rest instead.”

“We’d both be better off doing just that,” Goro said. And this wasn’t a lie, not entirely. They would be better off separate and distinctly removed from each other’s reach—but they both were so clearly dead set against it, if all those kisses were any indication.

“Thanks for the help.”

“Thanks for being so… receptive.”

Ren smirked and shook his head. “You make it easy,” he said, looking Goro over. “It’s hard not to give in to you. Remember what I said the other day, about fate?”

 _Maybe fate meant for us to be together._ “Yes, I do.”

Ren’s fingertips curled around the edge of Goro’s hand. They squeezed around his pinky finger, his touch pressing tight around the gloves on Goro’s hand. He offered a smile, crooked and shy. “Thanks for picking up the phone,” he said.

“Of course.” Goro cleared his throat, determined to make his voice steady. “Any time.”

And with a wink, Ren pulled his hand back and walked away. Now it was Goro’s turn to struggle to breathe on the whole train ride back home.

 _You did this to yourself,_ he thought, struggling to fit his key into the lock of his apartment door. _You did it to yourself and you enjoyed every minute of it._ Goro laughed. The sound crept low and ghost-like through each dark, empty room. He was right. Of course he was right. And he didn’t regret a single thing.

He smiled in spite of himself—no _to_ spite himself. He forced the smile to stay on and locked in place as he stripped for bed and slid beneath the covers. _I did this to myself, and I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything._ Except, of course, for one person. Just one. Only him.

Goro hoped it wouldn’t take too Ren long to call. But he could wait. He could tarry. He could endure the hell of it. The hanging suspense between need and release was a terror of a new kind, a terror whose name was not quite love but just about, and Goro hoped it would last.


End file.
